


13 Things I Hate About You

by CB812



Category: Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Lightis High School AU, Loosely based off the movie 10 things I hate about you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 18:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17872592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CB812/pseuds/CB812
Summary: High school AU, based off the premise of the movie '10 things I hate about you'.Mature adults you will not find, just two little shits annoying the hell out of each other and not even realising that they're falling in love.





	1. In which Noctis gets a name

**Author's Note:**

> Mega thanks to Cyrke for looking through this and pointing out my grammatical errors. 
> 
> This one's a little different from what I would usually write but I thought I'd give it a try. We'll see how it goes.

 

Chapter 1 – In which Noctis gets a name

.

 

The pinkish hues setting into the late-afternoon sky; the tinge of chlorine tickling his nostrils; the cool caress of water – the way it flowed over his bare skin, making him forget momentarily about the burning ache in his poor abused muscles.

The lyrics of a well-known Julie Andrews’ song floated through Noctis’ mind.

Not the abused muscles part of course.

Lactic acid was...a word that rhymed with witch.

And so was their slave-driver – read: hell-spawn – of a coach. Coach A, as he was known, though whether A stood for ‘Ardyn’ or ‘accursed’ was still a matter of debate. But at least the man had finally called an end to the team’s first training session of the new term. And it couldn’t have come a moment sooner. Close to two hours of shooting practice, tactical drills, and ‘egg-beating’ (water polo-speak for making alternating circular motions of the legs in an effort to keep one’s head above water) while balancing a 10lb medicine ball overhead with one hand, and now his limbs were genuinely feeling like well, beaten eggs.  

‘Beep!’ Noctis winced at the shrill cry of a whistle piercing through his thoughts and eardrums. “C’mon guys, practice is over. The women’s swim team has the pool booked at six, and you know what they are like if we don’t clear out on time.”

Shudders all around. The men’s water polo club of Lucis Academy needed no further prompting.

Gliding through the water, the black-haired youth reluctantly joined his teammates at the pool’s edge, smoothly hefting his body out with one arm. A shiver ghosted through him as the former's warm embrace was instantly replaced by chilly early-autumn air.  

Looking for a towel, he was met instead with a chipper blond slinging an arm around his neck.

“So, you ready for this?” The owner of the offending appendage grinned broadly.

Noctis wasn’t shy about close-contact with half-naked men – ahem, varsity water-polo player here! – but couldn’t Prompto’s public displays of bromance wait till they were both warm and dry?

Twisting out of the hold in time to catch the towel tossed his way, with the finesse one would expect from a first-string regular, he shrugged. “For what?”

“Senior year.” Prompto’s reply was accompanied by ‘duh’ look, as he busied himself with wrapping his own towel around his waist. Noctis noticed a hint of a well-defined six-pack peeking out. Huh, had his best friend been hitting the gym hard over the summer?

He pursed his lips, considered the question. Honestly, he hadn’t given it much thought, just as he hadn’t given much thought to the rest of his life. The heir to the Caelum empire had his future all mapped out for him from the day he was born. The last thought had a bitter ring to it.

At least his father has given his official seal of approval to Noctis’ choice of extra-curricular activities. Something about sports building character and all that.

“Caelum, Argentum, go help Raines and Villiers with the equipment will you!”

Snow Villiers gave them a nod of thanks as the two joined him in gathering up assorted gear scattered across the pool deck. While Noctis was considered scrawny by polo-standards, the converse was true of Snow. Easily the biggest guy on the team, the bear of a man looked like he’d be more at home pumping irons with Gladio or on the scrump-line with Libertus, but his hefty bulk made for a solid wall in front of the net, and the man had surprisingly quick reflexes. If only he would quit yelling out ‘steelguard!’ every time he made a block.

“So, senior year, huh? Got any new year’s resolutions, Snow?” Prompto turned his interrogation to the other man.

“Yea...” The goalie’s smile visibly deflated.

“Woah, who pissed in your protein shake, big guy?”

Snow swallowed thickly, a crimson flush on his tanned cheeks. “Well, there’s this girl...”

“That you want to be with for the rest of your life, and that you want to be the mother of your seven children?” Prompto helpfully supplied.

“Actually I was hoping to ask her out on a date.”

“Why don’t you? Did she reject you? Tsk, the girl doesn’t know what she’s missing out.”

Snow rubbed a hand at the back of his head. “Well, yes and no. Thing is...she’s got a sister. Older sister. And they’ve got this rule in their family – Serah can’t start dating before her sister does.”

Prompto made a face. “What kind of craptastic rule is that?”

Coming up behind them, Cid snorted. “Tough luck, Villiers. If by Serah you mean Serah _Farron_ , then I suggest you prepare to remain a bachelor for the rest of your life.”

Farron. Noctis had heard of the school’s resident ice princess, had his share of poolside run-ins with her, inevitable considering how much time they both spent around this place. The two had never exchanged words, not even simple pleasantries like ‘lovely weather huh?’, or ‘good practice’. Then again, he had always been awkward with that sort of thing, and Farron mostly gave no indication that she had even noticed his presence.

He didn’t know that she had a younger sister.  

As if on cue, a figure stepped into view, emerging from the tunnel that led to the changerooms.

Standard issue swimsuit of the varsity swim team. A frigid face that seemed to be permanently etched in a mask of indifference. Eyebrows slightly drawn together, framing a pair of piercing pale-aqua blues. A few errant strands of the most unusual rose-pink hair poking out from underneath her swim cap. Noctis knew that Farron was a prodigious swimmer – hell, she was attending Lucis Academy on a swimming scholarship – but looking at her up close, it was hard to see it. Skin that was not a sun-kissed tan but a pale, almost ashen ivory. Shoulders a little broader than the average girl but none too wide, a physique that was toned but slender, giving way to smooth bare legs that went on forever. Not exactly the archetype of a swimming ace.

“Sis!”

Snow’s enthusiastic greeting was not returned. Instead, the girl in front of them bristled.

“Not. Your. Sis.” Farron’s blue eyes narrowed a fraction, and Noctis had the sudden urge to brush goose pimples off his skin. Had the air just turned a whole lot chillier?

Before Snow could get another word in, she was gone, stalking off toward the pool deck without a second look back.

“She hates you.” Noctis stated the obvious.

“She hates everything.” Cid corrected.

Prompto tapped a finger to his chin in thought. “You know guys, I’ve got an idea.”

“Why are you looking at me that way for?” Noctis could feel another chill blossoming on his skin, not liking the look of contemplation the blonde was shooting his way.

“If the younger sister can’t date till the older sister does, then we just have to find the older sister a suitor! How ‘bout it Noct, take one for the team? One date, that’s all we need!”

“Sure, throw me to the sharks, Prom.”

“Actually, as far as marine species go Sis is more of a turtle.” Snow put in. “Look guys...I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to do this. Sis will come around, I know it. Even if I have to wait till I’m old and grey, Serah is worth it.” The wide and sunny grin was back on his face.

Damn that man and his teddy bear persona. Anyone would feel bad for gunning him down – anyone except Serah’s sister that is.

“Oh, alright, I’ll do it.”

To their right, Cid scoffed, skeptical written all over his face. “Caelum? No offense man, but I highly doubt that ‘boyish good looks’ and ‘suave-with-a-side-of-dorky’ are Farron’s type. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. There are hard-to-get girls, and then there is Farron. The last guy who tried to ask her out got a faceful of knuckles. Let’s face it, no one is defrosting that ice princess anytime soon.”

On hindsight, this was the moment he should have turn tail and fled. But instead, it was the male brand of ego and the brash temerity of youth that spoke.

“Challenge accepted.”

 

.

 

Floodlights flickered on under a darkening sky.

Noctis had taken a hot shower, polished off a diet coke and two club sandwiches, and sat on the poolside bleachers wondering just what he had got himself into.

It didn’t take him long to realise two truths.

Truth number one, the women’s swim coach – one Jihl Nabaat, touting a baton in one hand and a stopwatch in the other – was no less of a sadist than Ardyn. Water-polo players were used to the acidic burn in their muscles, pushing their stamina and bodies to the limit, but some of those sets would have made even the best of them shudder.

Truth number two, any doubts he had about Farron being a good swimmer were instantly washed away. Prodigious wasn’t quite the word, more like...natural. Her strokes were loose and free. Easy. Effortless. Cutting through the water like a gunblade’s edge, with a fluidity that belied its speed.

Mermaids would be jealous.

“Last set!” Nabaat called out.

 _Last chance to back out._ Cid’s text message was summarily deleted from his phone.  

Not long later, it ‘pinged’ again. Prompto, this time. _What’s your game plan?_

 _Just talk to her?_ Noctis texted back.

The reply came within a minute. _So no plan then. Never change, Caelum._

Since when had Prompto become such a snarky-ass? This was his idea from the start, a little encouragement would have been appreciated. The still ‘pinging’ phone was deposited in his back pocket, his attention returning to the lithe figure in the water.

Farron was the first to emerge from the pool, skipping out on the latter half of the warm-down, much to Nabaat’s chagrin. A quick rinse down at the outdoor showers, then she tugged on a simple polo-tee and boy shorts, before grabbing her pack and shouldering it.

She was leaving? With half the team still in the water? Clearly not one for team-bonding. Noctis was starting to see where that ice-princess repute was coming from.

Regardless, this was his cue. He pushed to his feet, put his game face on, dusted down his designer sports jacket, and hoped down the stands.

Now or never, Caelum. Man up, it’s not like you’re about to ask a snarling behemoth out to dinner.

The large sports complex that housed the open-air pool was buzzing during the day, but quiet at this late hour, with only small groups of students still milling around. Noctis spotted the object of his pursuit by the coolers, a bottled water grasped loosely in one hand, while slender fingers combed through tangled locks, still wet and damp and flowing like a river over one shoulder.

Their eyes met. She paid him no more than a perfunctory glance.

The shy and dorky side of him wanted to stumble out a ‘hi’, but instead he simply smirked, striding casually over.

“You really should wash off all that chlorine immediately after your swim. That stuff’s toxic to your skin and hair. Would be a shame if that milky skin and pretty hair got ruined.”  

Farron paused, looking up. For a moment she just stared.

She kept her cool neutrality for the most part, but there was a slight pinch to her brows, a barely perceptible squint of her eyes, a touch of red to her cheeks – though the last one could have been his imagination. Confused but trying to hide it, it was a cute look on her.

And then the cracks sealed back up. Face blank, posture neutral. Her expression was all in her eyes. The chilliness in the air was back; the goosebumps on his arms announcing their presence with renewed vigour. He forced his eyes to meet that blizzard head-on.

“Hey, I’m Noctis.”

He waited. She folded her arms across her chest, probably hoping that he would take the hint.  

He didn’t. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”

Nothing. Just more silent glaring.

“I’ve seen you around this place a lot. Just thought I’d say hi.”

“You’ve said it. Now leave.” She made to push past him.

Damn, he was starting to think that dinner with the behemoth would have been a better idea. Still, he wasn’t one to give up easily.

She took a step right. He mirrored it, easily walling off her slight frame with his larger one. A step left. He followed suit.

Her left eyebrow twitched, and Noctis did an imaginary fist pump in his head. Score one for Noct! Not quite a victory, but that’s the first reaction he’s provoked from her.  

“I’m not leaving without your name...and your number preferably.”

“Are you asking me out?” Her glare turned dark. “Did someone put you up to this? You don’t look that dumb, even for a pretty-boy.”

Aw, she thinks I’m pretty? Wait, was that a compliment, or...? No, focus Noct! She’s on to you! Is she that perceptive, or am I that bad of an actor? Think, what did Ig always say? ‘The best way to get around a lie is to tell a half-truth.’

He forced a sheepish grin. “Well, um, it’s a little embarrassing actually...my buddies made a bet that I couldn’t ask you out. What’ya say? Prove them wrong and split the cash?”

Her eyes were practically ice crystals now. Noctis realised too late that that odd crackling sound he was hearing was her fist closing around the misfortunate bottle of water. The next thing he knew, he found himself flat on his ass as said fist connected with his chin.

“You have three seconds to get out of my face unless you want another dent on that chiselled jawline.” She menaced.

This time he did take the hint.

 

.

 

A wise man once said that failure is nothing more than a chance to revise your strategy.

And yesterday had most definitely been the epitome of epic failures. A failure that Noctis was constantly reminded of by the smarting bruise on his jaw that hurt like a bitch whenever he wanted to yawn. Snow had taken one look at his friend’s face and winced in empathy. No consolation from Cid, he simply rolled his eyes with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look. Others gave him curious stares, but thankfully he had been able to pass it off as catching a bad elbow during practice.

“Are you sure it’s not broken?”  

“For the millionth time Noct, it’s bruised not broken.” Prompto held up an ice-pack to his best friend’s face. Noctis wondered if he was referring to his jaw or his ego.

“What’s her angle?” He groused, clenching his teeth, drawing a protest from his sore mandible.   

Prompto lifted a brow. “You mean, why is she so... _tempestuous_?”

“I believe stone cold bitch is the term most often used.” Another roll of Cid’s eyes. “Even a 6 am swim sounds warm and inviting compared to her.”

“Sis ain’t cold.” Snow insisted. “She’s just...not a people person. Kind of a loner, intensely private, enjoys the silence. She’s like a cat; she just needs her space.”

A grumpy cat that loves water. Sure, that was helpful.  

Snow turned to look at him. “I may be wrong, but you don’t sound like you’re giving up.”

Noctis scoffed, a corner of his lips curling. Give up? Oh no, this was now a matter of personal pride.

In many ways, water polo was a game not unlike real-life – there weren’t too many rules, and fouls were actually part of the strategy. If necessary, Noctis wasn’t above playing a little dirty himself, sportsmanship be damned.

_That bitch is going down._

 

.

 

The next time Noctis ‘ran into’ her was by the third-floor lockers outside the gym, depositing her swim bag after morning practice, decked in faded jeans and an off-white polo-tee. Gotta admit, she made polo-tees look good.

Arctic royalty, with _major_ resting bitch face, but otherwise a sight for sore eyes. Boy did she fit into a certain stereotype.  

Snow’s words about how she was edgy over invasions of her personal space came to mind, and so he did just that. Leaning in – close enough that he could see the fine layer of rust on steel and the barest widening of her eyes as she swung around – he planted his hands on the lockers at either side of her shoulders, effectively trapping her in place. Plus it would be hard to throw a punch from that angle.

Her hair was wet, this time from a shower, smelling of something fresh and sweet, like wild roses after the rain. Along with the lingering tang of chlorine.

She straightened, tilting her chin up, refusing to give away her discomfort to the source of it. “Are you going to ask for my name again?”

“Already know it.” He gestured to her student pass hanging around her neck. “ _Éclair_. No wonder you’re so tight-assed about that. I would be mortified too if my parents named me after a French pastry.”

“What do you want?” Blunt as usual, not hiding her annoyance.

“ _Your name_. Unless you prefer the French pastry?”

Her gaze flickered once, unsure. Outwardly she kept her poise, but Noctis could sense a whole internal debate swirling within her.

Eos, just getting a name from her was like pulling teeth.

“Lightning.” She eventually conceded, voice soft but even.

 _Lightning?_ Must be a story behind that; just like that jagged pink scar underneath her right eye, visible only because of her fair skin tone and how ‘in-your-face’ they literally were to each other. His curiosity piqued. Damn was he a sucker for the troubled but cute types. Still, he knew better than to ask about either. Fiercely private people were...well, fiercely private about their privacy.

“It suits you. Much better than ‘French pastry’.” He leaned back, but his hands remained where they were.

Most girls would have blushed, perhaps giggled at the light attempt at humour. Farron – _Lightning_ –didn’t even crack a smile. But Noctis was on to her. She emoted through her eyes, which had softened, just a fraction.

Whatever she might’ve been about to say was drowned out by the droll tolling of the school bell, and the ensuing early morning stampede that ran through the halls of Lucis Academy.

“Are you going to let me get to class?”

‘Only if you agree to go on a date with me.’ Was what he could have said. Except that had only earned him a throbbing jaw and wounded pride the last time. To try it again would just be lazy and foolish. While Noctis may be accused of being the former, he certainly wasn’t the latter.

Reluctantly, he withdrew his arms, and his quarry took the chance to put some space between them. “Where are you headed? I’ll walk you.”

“I’ll pass.” Tone arms folded across her chest. That impenetrable guard was back up. Damn, did he move too fast?

“Hey, am I not good company?”

“I prefer others.”

“Like?”

“My own.”

_Why was he not surprised?_

“Wait.”

To his surprise, she did pause.

He took a breath. “Look, I lied that day. It wasn’t a bet. Honestly? I like you, and I really wanted to ask you out but I didn’t know how to.”

Pale aqua eyes clouded, disbelieving. “Bullshit. What do you like about me? You don’t even _know_ me.”

What is with this girl? A guy tells you they like you and the first thing you ask is _why_? Really? I mean...who cares about why? He fumbled for an answer. “Err, I like that you’re cute.” Well, that wasn’t even a lie.

“Then date a mirror.”

A mirror? Oh! “Ha! I knew it, you think I’m cute too.”

“It’s a _no_.”  

“Why _not_?!”

“How about I hate you and we’ve got nothing in common?” She deadpanned.

“You don’t even know me.” His turn to fire back at her. “You probably can’t even name thirteen things you hate about me.”

“I know that you’re a rich brat who dresses like a caricature of teenage angst and uses hair mousse by the buckets. Doesn’t sound like there’s anything else I need to know.”

“Then let me tell you this about me – I’m not giving up, and I’m gonna keep coming after you, until the day you can name thirteen things you hate about me.”

The girl across from him stayed silent, but Noctis could have sworn he saw that same flicker in her eyes.

 


	2. In which Lightning can’t get a break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out once again to Cyrke for proof-reading this.
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone who left comments or kudos. Its thanks to you guys (and me having less night shifts in the last week) that I got this chapter up ten times faster than expected.

Chapter 2 – In which Lightning can’t get a break

.

 

Lightning Farron had her suspicions as a child, and now in her teenage years she was utterly certain, beyond a doubt, that the Universe had it out for her. Hell, the book of cosmic law probably had a picture of her tagged with the words ‘world’s punching bag’.

Whatever. She decided. It wouldn’t bring her down.

Whatever the Universe threw at her, she would accept, with the stoicism of a war-hardened soldier and the irreverence of an unrepentant atheist. She would survive, and make the best she could out of this life for both Serah and herself. 

So when the scholarship offer had come from Insomnia’s prestigious Lucis Academy, she had taken it; packed up her sister and their meagre belongings, bidding an unsentimental farewell to their once idyllic hometown of Bodhum and the memories that it held.  

The Universe could kick and stomp on her for all it tried; she would just get right back up every single time.

Those were the very words she had to remind herself as she stood in the middle of the mostly deserted school corridor, the sounds of harried footsteps filtering away, leaving her alone to stare in vexation at the metallic box that was her locker.

Locker no. 133 stared back, silent as a stone, and offering no solution to her problem.

If it felt like deja vu, it was because it _was_. Not twenty-four hours ago, she had arrived at her locker after a hard 10K swim set that began at the crack of dawn, bone-tired and grumpy and knowing that she had exactly five minutes to grab the textbooks and energy bars she would need to survive first period calculus; only to discover that try as she might, the blasted thing would not open. Maintenance services had solved the problem with a bolt cutter and fixed her up with a new lock, but by then she had earned detention for missing class, in addition to running on fumes for the next two periods till lunch.

Her stomach was still holding a grudge about that one.

It was said that lightning never struck the same place twice, but _Lightning_ never left anything to chance. Not anymore. Thus today she had come prepared with her very own bolt cutter.

Her ‘spidey-senses’ were not off.  Only this time, no power tool would be able to help her.

The locker was glued shut.

She counted upwards to ten in her head, then backwards in Pulsian. Even though there was no one here to see it, she refused to let her aggravation show on her face.

Childish pranks, a staple of high school fanfare, she dismissed. Maybe a jealous rival from the pool, or one of those cheerleader girls from the in-crowd who disliked her face or her odd hair colour or her attitude or the fact that she was a transfer student. The ones who called her an ice-princess to her face and a ‘bitch’ behind her back. No matter. History had taught her that if she ignored them hard enough, the perpetrators would just give up and let it go.

Whatever it is, she would survive her final year of high school with her dignity intact. 

Even as she told herself that, she felt a premonitory chill, creeping up from the base of her spine.

And then the fire sprinklers broke open. In the middle of a cool mid-September’s morning. With not a trace of smoke in sight.

Not a light summer drizzle, nor the soft cascading stream of a running shower, but a sudden deluge. Half-blind, she staggered away from the torrent. She knew that she probably looked like a half-drowned kitten, standing in her own personal puddle as frigid water trickled in rivulets into her eyes, down her cheek, through her cotton tee and cut-off shorts, and into her shoes.

The encroach of footsteps had her whipping around, hissing like a spritzed cat, ready to shoot an icy glare should the encroacher dare laugh or express amusement at her predicament.

_“You!”_

The black-haired boy held up a hand innocently, but there was nothing innocent about his appearance. Black tee, black jeans and black vest, as if his wardrobe consisted of nothing else. But today he had exchanged his Doc Martens lace-up boots for a pair of yellow rubber ones, and grasped in his other hand was a chocobo-shaped umbrella of an equally gaudy and eyesore-ish yellow – making certain that not a hair on his head would be touched by the gushing spray.

“Hey now, my name isn’t ‘you’, it’s Noctis. But you have my permission to call me Noct.” The little schemer all but smirked, boots squeaking as he stalked closer, offering to share the cute rainshade for the ‘small’ price of an unwelcome invasion of her personal space.

Yea right. He could save that privilege for someone else.

“How ‘bout I call you ‘asshole’?” The only heat on her body was the one on her face. It was hard to tell if her shaking was from cold or from anger.

The exploding ketchup from two days ago, and the tiny pebbles in her tennis shoes that had been a _pain_ to clear out the day before that. It had all been him?

Lightning tried to stand firm against the wave of fury crashing through her. She couldn’t play into his hands, couldn’t get riled up because of this. Gritting her teeth, she resorted to a barely suppressed glare, smouldering enough that it probably would have set off the sprinklers if they weren’t already flooding the entire corridor.

He looked suitably amused, the damn cat that ate the canary, stepping closer and leaning down the few inches that separated them to husk in her ear. “Go out with me. Just one date. And all of this will stop.”

The warmth emanating from his body was strangely beckoning, as was the enticement of shelter. She could smell his cologne – clean, fresh and ocean-y – and something familiar that she recognized as the faint scent of chlorine. It was probably the first thing about him that she didn’t outright hate. No, if she were being honest with herself, she _liked_ it very much.

But honesty was a piece of over-rated crap these days.

As for the kind _offer_...

“Fuck off.” Was her polite reply.

Squaring her shoulders, Lightning forced herself to take two large steps back, reaching down for the hem of her shirt to strip off the wet garment. There was nothing to be self-conscious about; not for someone who spent as much time in a swimsuit as she did in regular clothes.

Thankfully by now, the deluge had reduced to a mizzle.

“Hh–hey! Why are you stripping for?”

She ignored his protests. With the next timed trials a bare fortnight away, she couldn’t afford to catch a chill and miss out on training. And if she didn’t hurry, she’d be slapped with another detention for being late for class. Couldn’t afford that either.

Her pack was no less soaked than she was, but the dry bag was as waterproof as a shell. She bent down to stuff the sodden shirt inside, before slinging it over one shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to put some fresh clothes on? You’re not going to class like that are you?”

Was that genuine concern in his voice? It’s a thought that’s unfathomable, bewildering, and disconcerting alike; so naturally she dismissed it.

“In case you haven’t noticed, my locker’s glued shut.” She spoke with an even tone.

“Oh, shit.”

She was already turning to leave when a hand shot out, catching her by the wrist, tight enough to restrain but not hard enough to leave a mark. “Wait.”

Her ensnared wrist was released before she could swing around and re-acquaint his pretty face with her fist. Noctis brushed past her, hastening to his own locker – turns out it’s just three doors down – prying it open and pulling out an article of clothing from within.

The shirt, an exact replica of the one he was wearing, was tossed at her. And then he shoved the silly umbrella into her hands before bolting off the way he came, leaving her on her own and trying to make sense of what just happened.

 

.

 

Well, _that_ hadn’t worked out. Noctis draped himself onto his seat, slouching back with a yawn. At the head of the class, the lecturer pretended not to notice.

So much for having a plan. Not the most well thought out one, admittedly; but a plan all the same.

It was not that the execution had failed. No, that part had been easy, too easy. He didn’t even have to use his connections to get her schedule. All he had to do was ask around. Ha! Who was it who said that men don’t ask? Probably a woman.

It helped the Farron was a creature of routine. Came straight from the pool in the mornings. Made a stop at the lockers, spent exactly five minutes there, made another visit between periods three and four, and once more after the end-of-school bell. Free periods were always spent studying in the hushed tones of the library.

True to his word, he had been coming after her, every single day.

Today was supposed to be the payoff. He had even taken the trouble of procuring an umbrella and a pair of rain boots for this.

Okay, technically Prompto had procured it for him; but you get the point.

He had been close. The tightness in her jaw, he could almost _hear_ her gritting her teeth. Seeing her flustered, discomposed, the wheels coming off of that unflappable persona, even as she desperately tried to screw them back on; it was almost as gratifying as executing the perfect offensive drive and getting that shot on goal.

“You’re looking buoyant. Did it work?” Prompto leaned across the desk, giving his bestie a closer inspection. “I don’t see a shiner on your face so that’s a good sign.”

No, he hadn’t been close at all. Fooled the defense and then failed to bury the sitter. No, not even that. She hadn’t been _close_ to caving. Even if he had poured an ice-bucket down her back she would still have recovered her usual sangfroid within a heartbeat. In the end, all he had been left with was that damnable obstinacy in her eyes, and the flare of _something_ in his gut at the thought that she would go marching off to class in her sports bra and act like she wasn’t embarrassed about it at all.

“Now you’re looking sour. I’m guessing it didn’t work.” 

“No. It didn’t.” He grudgingly admitted, then after a moment, he added. “The pranks are off.”

“Oh thank Eos.” Prompto mocked-sighed. “How did you even come up with that idea in the first place? I swear Noct, you’ve been watching too many trashy Altissians dramas.”

“Says the man who takes romantic advice from the 18th century. _Your_ idea was to send her a dozen red roses every day until she capitulated.” Although now that he thought about it, the image of her walking around campus while clutching a ninety-nine stalk bouquet in her arms, drawing unwanted murmurs and stares, and turning as red as the roses as she tried to hide her embarrassment behind their petals – that would have made for a hilarious sight.

_Or she could have just tossed them in the trash..._

Prompto bumped him on the shoulder. “So what’s plan B?”

“Hmm, good question. Might have to sleep on it.”

“You mean that literally don’t you?”

“Is there any other meaning to it?”

 

.

 

The school’s library was located at the north face of campus, thirteen storeys high and packed to the gills with books and manuscripts – a bibliophile’s wet dream.

Others used this place for the more conventional kinds of dreams.

Noctis arrived to find his favourite cat-napping spot in the library occupied by a warm body. A coincidence that someone else had decided to use this place for a midday snooze. Getting sleep was usually more important than where he got it, but this was the comfiest couch to catch those Zs in, and Noctis had tried every couch on campus.

The feline in his seat stretched, leonine-like, but otherwise made no reaction to the new presence. Pink wisps of hair flopped into her face, tumbled over a shoulder.

He hadn’t expected to run into her again so soon, and certainly not like this. This wasn’t part of her routine; an uncharacteristic deviation.

She looked...exhausted, worn. Body limp like a ragdoll, half sunken into the plush cushion. Even snoring a little. They shared a couple of classes, and he’d caught her doing the chocobo head bob on a couple of occasions, in addition to chugging caffeine and devouring energy bars like candy. A reminder that underneath that cold, unfeeling, impervious, _mechanic_ facade, she was human too.

Maybe warm body was the wrong choice of words. She didn’t look warm at all, and for once he wasn’t referring to her less than sunny disposition. That was fairly obvious from the way she shivered like a wet kitten, tucking into a tighter ball, curling around the encyclopaedic text in her lap, as if trying to leech non-existent heat from the inert pages.

Little wonder why she was acting like they were in an ice cooler. The lecture halls were cold, but they had nothing on the polar ice-cap that was the library. Noctis tucked his hands into the front pouch of his hooded pullover, another all-black affair, with the print of a fat floofy cat flopped on its belly and the words ‘lazy cat’ in large caps underneath. He had come prepared – sleeping wasn’t much fun if you were freezing your ass off – but unlike him, Lightning was only wearing that thin black Tee that he had not so much loaned as chucked at her.

Probably because her sweatshirt was still interned in the locker he had glued shut. For the second time today, Noctis felt that tight twist in his gut.

Sleep leaden lids cracked open. Their eyes locked. She was on her feet within seconds, the heavy tome tumbling to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. 

Pale aqua blues were glaring glaciers again, although the desired effect was somewhat lost with the traces of slumber still on her face. She attempted to smooth out the wrinkles on her shirt.

 _His shirt_. 

It was baggy on her. The shoulder seams falling a couple of inches down her arms; the hem ending past her cut-offs, brushing against her mid-thighs; the collar riding low on her neck, exposing a hint of feminine valley.

 _Gulps_.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his head. Probably should say something; she obviously wasn’t going to.

“Hey, black looks good on you.”

 _Double-gulps_.

Okay, that...came out wrong. He’d just wanted to ‘break the ice’ so to speak, not sound like he was trying to flirt – and not even coolly.

The reminder that she was wearing his shirt only stoked the wariness in her eyes. Little quivers were running through her again, though she seemed as oblivious to them as she was to the unintentional ‘flirting’. With a sigh, Noctis slid his arms out of the sleeves of his hoodie, then tugged it over his head.

“Here, put it on.”

The way she was looking at the fleece, one could be mistaken for thinking that he was brandishing a Tonberry’s knife instead.

Another sigh, audibly this time. “You’re freezing.”

“I’ll live.” She brushed off flatly.

Annoyance was creeping in. He tossed the hoodie at her. “Don’t be a stubborn ass.”

She tossed it back with a huff, taking offense at that remark.

He flung it at her again, this time with more intended force behind it.

“Oof.” She stumbled back a half-step, and before Noctis could congratulate himself, she balled up the sweater then catapulted it at him.

He had felt the force of her punch once so it wasn’t much of a surprise, but man did she have a beast of an arm. Would have made for a good water-polo player. But it’s still no match for _–_

 _Take that!_ Without missing a beat, he retaliated in kind, arm winding back then snapping forward with a grunt, showing her how a _true_ water-polo player hits his shots.

“Silence!” The slinging match was interrupted by the authoritative bark of the library’s curator. Mdm Lulu looked pissed. Ire on her face and hands on her hips, casting them a withering look for daring to despoil the silence of the library. “One of you will put that damn thing on or the _both_ of you will be thrown out with your passes revoked.”

The girl beside him scowled, staring at the black pullover that had ended up in her hands when the figurative music stopped, mentally weighing the options of wearing a _‘lazy cat’_ sweater versus losing access rights to the library.

Like the shirt, his thick hoodie hung off her limber frame.

He tried – he swears he tried – not to snigger at the abject look of misery on her face.

Anyhoos, with that settled, they were now free to get back to the more important matter at hand –

_Who’s gonna get the couch?_

 

.

 

A booming crack of thunder shook Noctis out of his stupor. He had been having that dream again – the one where he was a prince fighting to protect a magical crystal. He yawned lazily and shivered a little, blinking sleep from bleary eyes.

Oh, it’s storming. Guess practice will be cancelled then. 

On the other end of the couch they were sharing, his companion remained still, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest in slow steady breaths, as her namesake flashed in the murky sky outside.

She had scooted as far off to the side as possible, and he wondered how she’d even managed to sleep, let alone sleep soundly, in that neck-contorting position. But at least she looked warm.

Noctis allowed the faint smile playing on his lips to morph into a mischievous grin. He left the girl temporarily to her slumber, returning with a strip of masking tape and an inker pen which he used to scribble something on the tape, before affixing it to the dormant figure.

It’s a question he will probably never know the answer to, as he sure as rain didn’t want to be around when it happened. But that didn’t stop him from wondering how long it would take her to realise that the hooded jumper she was wearing now read – ‘ ~~lazy~~ grumpy cat’.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt title for this one could be - in which Noct is a little shit. Alt title for this fic could also be - in which lazy cat falls for grumpy cat, and vice versa.


	3. In which Noctis gets a smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta this time, so I apologise for any grammatical error in advance.
> 
> Also, a quick shout out to Mado - thanks for encouraging me to crank this chapter out.

Chapter 3 – In which Noctis gets a smile

.

 

Once upon a time, there lived a little prince who fell in love with a beautiful girl.

He fell for her eyes, and for her heart, for they reminded him of the ocean – mysterious and beckoning, deceptively calm but with swirling currents within, and depths and secrets yet unexplored. And when he looked at her, he felt no fear, just a quiet stirring.

But most of all he fell for her smile.

She didn’t smile often, and when she did it was a subtle thing; like the ebbing twilight, or the reaching dawn.

Young and innocent, the love-struck boy swore he would give her all the stars in the sky, and all he wanted in return was that smile.  

Noctis had been that kid once. Not the boy-prince, but a ten year old with his first crush – on a foreign student from Tenebrae that had him questioning ‘how do you know if she’s the one?’

Little Noct had been too shy to ask, not that anyone would have taken the question seriously had it come from a child’s lips. Regis, distant but doting father, never liked talking about his late wife, a mother Noctis had never known. The other ‘adults’ would likely have dawwed and pinched his flaming cheeks, while Noct wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. An inquiry on the net had presented more helpful answers, like ‘she makes you laugh and smile, and wonder why you never met her sooner’, or ‘you’ve got no secrets from her and can be yourself around her’, and ‘you think she looks cute in your hoodie’.

Luna...sort of checked points one and two. He hadn’t seen her in the year since her graduation, but the handwritten letters in elegant cursive scroll, posted from halfway across the continent where the younger Fleuret was studying at the University of Altissia, never failed to brighten his day.

Even on a day like this, where the young heir had received summons to his father’s office, the long conversation that followed leaving both Caelum senior and his only son in dour moods. Except Luna’s letters weren’t due for another two weeks; he had the date marked out on his calendar.

But Noctis had never once, not face to face nor through the archaic form of communication, plucked up the balls to tell his childhood friend that he liked her. As for point number three, he tried to picture it in his head – her slender frame dwarfed in his oversized sweater, hueless black contrasting sharply with the pale tones of her skin.

It made her look small, and soft, and...cute?

Suddenly he was no longer thinking of Luna, but of...

 _Her_.

Farron. Eclair. Lightning.

Shared initials aside, Luna and Lightning were two remarkably different girls, and the personas he displayed with either of them were just as divergent; the shy besotted mouse with the former replaced by the playful devious kitten with the latter.

Okay, maybe trying to coerce her on a date hadn’t been the brightest idea. Even if a part of him had been secretly enjoying it – winding her up like a ball of yarn and seeing how far he could get to her.

The pranks may be off, but perhaps there was still some fun to be had.

Luna’s letters weren’t due for another fortnight, but Noctis felt a smile re-forming on his face.

 

.

 

Lightning bit back a curse as her alarm clock made its daily assault on her ears.

Groping around blindly, she fumbled to silence the wretched device while remaining face-planted in her pillow. The elder Farron would be hard pressed to call herself a morning person, but she was a mind over matter person. And today she had to summon all her will to drag her sore and battered hide out of bed.

Her swim bag sat in a corner where she had dumped it a week ago. With renovation works ongoing at the pool, Nabaat had lined up a week of dryland strength and core training, relishing the chance to ‘whip their asses into shape’. Lightning had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, caught between a groan and a scoff.

She didn’t have to be a fan, but in an era where even high-school swimmers were racking up hours in the weights room, she was certainly no stranger to working a chin-up bar or pumping irons.

Fast forward a week later – seven days straight of punishing her lats and quads and gluts and just about every muscles group on her body that she didn’t know she had – and Lightning had to admit, the woman wasn’t lying about the ass-whipping.  

To rub salt to injury, Nabaat had singled her out for a little extra ‘PT’. “You may be riding high from your recent success but don’t think that I’ll go easy on you, _princess_.” Jihl tuttered, making a scratch on her clipboard. “Talent will only get you so far. Pack some lean muscles onto those reed-like arms and you might have a shot at getting up for Nationals.” She sniffed.

The modern-day elite swimmer was a physical specimen, sporting a sculpted back, boulder shoulders and a rippling physique that could still cut through water like a torpedo. Whereas she – in Jihl’s words again – looked like ‘a surfer girl missing her board and bikini’.

The barb failed to deliver its intended sting. Lightning had learned to swim with a longboard hitched to her ankle, amidst the barrelling waves off of Bodhum’s seacoast.

But home was no longer a mile-long stretch of white-sand beach surrounded by crystal ocean and sky, but a modest two bedroom apartment in the landlocked metropolis of Lucis, Insomnia.

These days it was not the smell of sea-salt, but the scent of chlorine that clung to her skin.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, the pink-haired teen scrubbed at her face, and when that failed to wake her up she headed for the shower, stripping off the large hoodie and boy shorts and slipping under the running stream. Eyelids drifted shut as hot mist met cool flesh. If they could, her muscles would have cooed their appreciation.

The water’s touch was calming, rejuvenating, and sorely missed. She allowed herself to enjoy the simple comfort for a while longer, only stepping out when her skin had acquired a rubescent tint and her fingers were starting to resemble a bag of prunes.

“Hey Sis!” Serah greeted brightly as Lightning trudged into the kitchen of their small rental flat.

She offered a smile in return. “Hey kiddo. You hungry?” The smile turned apologetic. “Sorry I slept in. I’ll whip something up for you right away. Would you like some milk or juice?” She peered into the mini-fridge, and its piteously vacant contents. “Shit– er, how bout some hot cocoa instead? Lemme get that kettle on the stove.”

“It’s okay, Sis!” Serah’s shoulders shook with barely suppressed mirth at her sibling’s uncharacteristic fluster. “I’ve already made us breakfast.”

“Oh.” How had she missed the mug of Swiss miss steaming at her elbow? Or the tantalising wafts of scrambled eggs and honey bacon that filled the kitchenette. Or the latest issue of ‘Swim World’ conveniently spread open on the countertop.

She wasn’t aware that they were a subscriber to the quarterly publication. Serah must have ordered a copy. And it soon became clear why.

‘Bodhum kid makes waves!’ the feature article on page 13 heralded, storying a young up-and-coming swimmer, whose medal decorated mugshot was plastered next to the bold headline, giving the world of competitive swimming its first introduction to a distinctive shock of blossom-pink tresses framing a sullen unsmiling face. The photo was captioned: ‘ _Swimming’s new ice princess?’_

Nabaat’s new _sobriquet_ for her suddenly had some context.

The article continued: A flash of ‘Lightning’ out of nowhere! Young swim ace’s unexpected three gold haul in the 1500, 800 and 400-free at last month’s Junior Grand Prix Championship created instant ripples in the pool. The seventeen year old had been a last minute substitute and an unsung name prior to the event. Farron currently attends Lucis Academy in Insomnia and has no social media accounts.

A cold draught washed over her. Nausea gnawed at her gut, as she swallowed back the acerbic lump in her throat.

It wasn’t the first time her swimming feats had made for newsworthy stories, though the former had been under _vastly different_ circumstances. Her eyes hastily scanned the rest of the full paged article, fears assuaged on finding that it had not dug up the skeletons of her past.

Good. She needed them to stay there, buried in the dark recesses of her memories.

“Sis?” Serah placed a hand over hers, recoiling with a gasp. “Claire, you’re so cold!”

The smile she mustered was forced, and probably came out as a cringe.

Serah bit her lip. “They would have been proud. You know they wou– ”  

“How’s that art project coming along?”

She heard it – the barest of sighs, but Serah accepted the diversion for what it was. “It’s getting there. Snow is going to help me with it today.”

Lightning hung her head. She hadn’t had a morning off to spend with Serah in weeks; only instead of doing that she had locked herself in the shower, and now she was locking Serah out again.

It was hard to look her sister in the eye. This wasn’t something venial like Lightning burning their breakfast, another event of frustratingly regular occurrence. Not like she could just apologise for it and expect to be forgiven.

Sooner or later, her silence and self-occupation would tear their relationship apart.

And yet, the thought of that blonde buffoon with her baby sister had her seeing red. Apology forgotten, Lightning crossed her arms over her chest. “Serah, do I have to recite you the rules of this house? No alcohol, no drugs, no cursing, no tattoos, no piercings, no religious cult groups, and–”

“And no boys coming over.” Serah arched a brow. “Then who’s that in our driveway?”

Not who, but _what_.

A gleaming Audi Spyder, probably costing more than her entire tuition fee combined and looking more than a little misplaced as it sat pompously in their tiny driveway. And leaning against the achromatic black hood, swathed in more achromatic black and looking like a million bucks himself, was the ‘Prince’ of Lucis Academy. Silhouetted in the blushing rays of dawn, the halo of gold made him looked less like the devil she knew and more like a seraph.

Unfair wasn’t it, how some people could look _angelic_ in just jeans and a T-shirt.

“Damnit, what’s _he_ doing here.” She hadn’t taken one foot out of the house and already she had more than enough surprises for one day. Maybe she should have just stayed in bed.

“No cursing, Sis.” Serah hid her amusement behind a hand over her mouth. Her gaze shifted from her scowling sibling to the unwonted visitor. “Aren’t you going to invite him in?”

Was it too late to fake detachment? “I don’t know that guy.”

The roadster’s V10 engine gave a reverberating purr as its owner revved a greeting, holding up his hand like a prince acknowledging his adoring subjects.

Serah’s shoulders shook, while Lightning only scowled harder. She stalked past the still giggling girl, marching up to his Royal Assness and jabbing the rolled up magazine at his chest. “What are you doing here?”

He chuckled. “Hello to you too.”

Lightning tried to refrain from sighing like an old lady. Whatever it was he wanted, she didn’t have the faculties to deal with it right now. “Noctis–”

“Just Noct is fine.” He flashed a smile, sunny and charming, one that would have all the girls swooning.

Naturally, Lightning did not swoon, nor smile, but she did narrow her eyes warily. She didn’t know what he had up his sleeve, only that thus far all their encounters had been... _aggravating_ , to say the least. No reason to think that today would be different.

“ _Noctis_ – _what_ are you doing here?”  

The black haired teen placed a hand over his heart with a mock hurt expression. “You wound me, Light. Can’t a guy call on a girl he likes? Besides, I recall you have something of mine. I’m just here to ask for it back.”

Oh, right. The hoodie.

“I...haven’t had a chance to wash it yet. It’s been a hectic week.” She confessed, a little embarrassed at jumping to conclusions about his intentions.

It wasn’t a lie. Between Nabaat’s whip-cracking sessions and the new after-school job she had started, laundry hadn’t exactly been a top priority. Arriving home dead on her feet, bypassing the shower in favour of sleep, scarcely managing to throw on the first comfy thing she could find before flopping onto the nearest flat surface and rolling over into oblivion. That about summed up her nightlife for the past week.

Not that she was going to admit that she had been using his sweater as PJs.

Or that for the first time in ages, she had slept like a babe through the night, body for once not fighting sleep, the beasts that prowled her dreams staying subdued and silent.

She chalked that up to sheer exhaustion.

“I get it.” Noctis nodded, wrinkling his nose like a ten year old that just got told he needed to clean his room. “You should see _my_ laundry pile. I mean, throwing it in the washer is fun, but I never get beyond that step.”

Noctis doing housework. Now that was a mental image that almost made cold stoic Lightning burst out laughing. Seriously? This guy probably couldn’t work a steam cleaner if his life depended on it. She kept the sass to herself, seeing as she did owe him a sweater.  

Noctis on the other hand, had no qualms speaking his mind.

“That’s some gold hanging off your neck.” He whistled, perusing the magazine that he had snagged from her fingers.

“Not the most flattering photo.” He held it up to her face for comparison. “Doesn’t do the real thing any justice. Geez, couldn’t you have cracked a smile for the cameras? One little smile isn’t going to kill you, you know.”

“I don’t do smiles.”

“Yea, yea...like you don’t do dates. Just you wait, I’m gonna get one out of you eventually. Both the smile _and_ the date.”

He grinned at her, and this time it was less prince charming, and more impish goofy dork.

Lightning rolled her eyes. “You think you’re real cute don’t you?”

“I don’t know...do _you_ think I’m cute?” And just like that he was back on suave mode.

“The only thing I think you are is an ass.”

“But a _cuteass_ , right?” Boy did she want to punch that smirk off his face.

Thankfully, it looked like Noctis had reached his quota of pushing her buttons for one morning. He slid back behind the wheel of his fancy ride, taking a moment to check his hair in the mirror before nodding at the passenger’s seat beside him.

When she made no move to follow, he frowned. “Why are you standing there woman? Get in.”

So much for hitting that quota. Clearly he wished to continue this little _repartee_ on the way to school.

Honesty, she’d take a pumpkin carriage over sharing a ride with Prince smugface any day.

She fixed him with a vacant stare, accompanied by an unimpressed fold of her arms across her chest. “Are you even old enough to drive?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. The last I checked, we’re both in our senior year. So unless you think I’m smart enough to skip a grade, which you know, I could be.” He winked.

Damn, she walked right into that one. A surprisingly witty riposte. Maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit.

At her nettled look, he laughed – a melodious burst, as unrestrained as the laughter of a child, the pendulum swinging back to full-on dork.

Lightning cursed the heat on her face. She hated her complexion, hated that she has to slather on layers of SPF 50 just to survive a late evening practice, hated that when she’s flustered it _showed_.

Never mind why. _How_ is he doing this to her?

Butterflies in her stomach, pre-race jitters, wavering mind and nagging doubts, she’d thought herself immune to all that, that she’d rid herself of these unnecessary and crippling things known as ‘feelings’. And yet here she was, letting this boy get to her like this.

Noctis was an enigma, one she’s more than a little stumped on how to deal with. And so she doesn’t. She’s polite and impersonal in declining his offer of a lift to school, no matter how much he pouted and cajoled.

Tonight, that hoodie was going in the laundry, and tomorrow it was going straight back to its owner, and she would never have to deal with that boy or his cute ass ever again.

 

.

 

Of course she spoke too soon.

When Lightning made it in to class a minute before the bell, her new nemesis was already lounging in the back row. He lobbed an eraser at her. She pointedly ignored him.  

She made it three-quarters through of the hour of English lit without being called on to read some ostentatious poem or give her opinion about the motifs of the verses.

And then Mr Kazhroy had announced their assignment for the week.

Frankly, Lightning would take reading ridiculous poetry over _writing_ ridiculous poetry any time.

“It’s gonna count towards your grade, so make some effort kids. You can work individually or in pairs. Hell, I’ll even give ya the last ten minutes of today’s class to get working on it.”

The chatter around her rose, intermingling with the rustle of sheets and the scratch of pen on paper. Lightning shifted in her chair, idly spinning her pencil while starring at the blank space on her jotter book, as if the words would magically appear if she glared hard enough at it.

Needing a distraction, she glanced around the room, spying the black-haired boy in the corner of her eye. He probably hadn’t even heard the assignment thanks to the earphones in his ears. For once he wasn’t dozing in his seat, instead busying himself with fiddling with his - expensive looking - smartphone as he blatantly tuned out the class.

A buzz from her jeans pocket had her retrieving her own phone, swiping her thumb across the cracked screen.

The media file she received was from an unknown number. Against her better judgement, she tapped on it.

It was a photo, or what teenage millennials would term a ‘selfie’. In it, Noctis was wearing nothing but jeans and an apron, hot pink latex gloves, and a confused look, while juggling a laundry basket and a bottle of what looked suspiciously like household bleach in his hands. Screw looking good in jeans and a t-shirt, he could make an apron look like the hottest fashion.

He also looked utterly ridiculous.

Her lips twitched, and she gave up trying to stifle the incessant tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Etro, who let that boy near a chemical hazard?

Her phone buzzed again.

_‘There, that’s a smile. Didn’t kill you did it?’_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May or may not be continued. 
> 
> Having said that, I'm really happy with how this one turned out, and I do like how different the story is to my other works. If there's positive reader response I'll do my best to crank out more.


	4. In which Lightning gets coffee and cake (and maybe something more)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the story continues. Sorry for the wait y'all.

Chapter 4 – In which Lightning gets coffee and cake (and maybe something more)  

.

 

Lightning Farron, once troubled youth, now varsity athlete, was not your run of the mill high school student, for whom life’s greatest wonder was what excuse to offer for not turning in their assignments on time.

But by a cruel stroke of fate, she now found herself veering tangentially close to that line.

And so it was with much perturbation and un-Farron-like awkwardness that she found herself outside the academy’s staff lounge, raising her hand to rap her knuckles on the door, before letting herself in.

“Over here.” A familiar afro poked out from behind a heaping pile of books and folders that weren’t quite on an even keel. Lightning nodded once, striding briskly over, making sure to give the leaning tower of papers a wide berth while side-eyeing the clutter strewn across the teacher’s desk – styrofoam cups whose beverage contents gave new meaning to the term ‘ice-coffee’, a half-eaten packed lunch, an assortment of stationeries and various other sundries, and a pinned Polaroid photo of a shrieking boy hanging off his father’s shoulders as the older man performed his best impression of a spinning top.

Sazh Kaztroy, bedraggled English professor and devoted father, gestured to the seat across from him. “What can I do for you, kid?”

Lightning bristled, or rather she would have; she hadn’t been a ‘kid’ for years and being called that usually rubbed her the wrong way, but with Sazh it didn’t feel as patronising.

Still, she chose to remain standing.

“It’s about the class assignment. I’m having a little trouble with it.” She explained.

She tried. Really, she did. She just...didn’t have a poetic bone in her body. It was like a blind man trying to describe the way the sky caught fire at sunset, or a wayfarer peering into an abyss and hoping to see stars, or watching an adamatoise – who went by the first and last names of Snow and Villiers – attempt to bodysurf.

That last one was something she would dearly like to erase from her memory, metaphor for her current pickle be damned.

Sazh took a minute to mull over this. “You’re a smart kid, Farron. But it looks to me like you’re over-thinking it.”

“Over... _thinking_?”

The thick ‘fro bobbed up and down. “Here’s my advice, kid – don’t think, _feel_. The notes of a poem are composed on the strings of the heart. It starts as a missing, a reminiscing, a fervent wishing. A lump in your throat. A feeling that haunts your heart like a phantom, yearning to be given life through prose.”

“Poetry is simply an understanding of how words carry emotion, and resonate with hearts.”

If Sazh heard the skeptical noise in her throat, he didn’t show it. Instead, he sent her on her way with an extension on the assignment’s dateline.

Lightning stuffed her hands into her pockets as she trudged back to class. A lump in her throat? Knowing her luck it was probably a fishbone lodged in her esophagus. Call her a cynic, but ‘globus sensation’ and ‘poetic inspiration’ did not quite translate.

Talking about her feelings? Big nope. Talking about her feeling in rhymes? She’d pass as hard on that as she would on a 200 butterfly set.

Self-expression – the sucking very much at it to be precise – had long been her personal foible, and that was before her childhood had eloped with the last of her innocence off into the sunset.

 _‘Is it normal for a kid to sulk like that?’_ Other parents may have been at a loss for what to do with a child who held back tears from skinned knees, and never laughed too loud or smiled too hard. Hers had simply shared consoling hugs, and then they had taken her to the drive-thru for shakes and burgers, and down to the beach to listen to the waves.

_‘Claire, this is Serah. She’s your new sister. You’ll look after her, won’t you?’_

_‘I will.’_ She had vowed, leaving her parents misty-eyed, having waited three years to hear the first words from their first-born's lips.

There was a lump forming in her throat, and Lightning quickly turned off that faucet before more memories could spill out. 

Did she miss them? More than words. But there was little solace in wishing for what could be or could have been, or in reminiscing on what once was but never will be.

If there was anything she had learned about life, it was that it’s pretty goddamn simple – you fight for the things you love, treasure the things you have, and let go of the things you’ve lost.

No point in waxing poetic over it.

 

.

 

Elsewhere on the campus grounds, a black-haired teen took a bite of his sandwich and promptly spat it out.

“There’s a leaf in my sandwich!”

“It’s called a lettuce, you dork.”

“I don’t care what it’s called, I don’t want it in my food. Look, it’s not even cooked! It could give me dysentery!” He shuddered.

Noctis Lucis Caelum, only son of a business magnate and occasional drama-queen, was your average high school student, if your average high school student drove an Audi Spyder and found it embarrassing to have his middle name on the school emblem, and at seventeen still acted like a five-year-old when it came to eating his vegetables, and knew more about multinational corporations and the modern capital market than most MBA graduates. 

Unsurprising, when that was all you heard at the dinner table growing up.

Thankfully, lunch breaks these days were spent in more riotous but good-natured, not to mention age-appropriate, company.

The ‘polo-boys’ were an odd bunch. A motley gang pulled together by fate and the fact that they probably weren’t thinking straight when they signed up to play a full contact sport in a pair of speedos.

Thick heads, hot bods, and something to prove. That about summed up the must-have traits of a water polo player. He would know, since he ticked all the boxes.

There were the gut-check moments, when his skip shot won’t skip and his pump fakes won’t fake, and Coach A won’t get off his ass, and he missed the buzzer beater and it felt like he let his whole team down.

The weight of past disappointments was just as leaden as that of future expectations. And Noctis was no stranger to both.

“How was the talk with dad?”

Soul-crushing. Mind-numbing. _Ennui_ -inducing. Take your pick.

“It went fine.” He answered, a smidgen too quickly.

The table lapsed into silence. Snow scratched awkwardly at his beanie. “Actually, the question was for Tidus.”

The latter shot him a commiserative glance, but seemed just as happy to steer the conversation toward less troubled waters.

“What about you, lover-boy? Finally asked that girl of yours out on a date yet?”

“I’m working on it.”   

Tidus’ resting confused face now appeared twice as befuddled. “Erm...Noct, I was referring to Villiers.”

Cid snorted out loud, Snow spluttered and almost choked on a fry, Tidus helpfully thumped him on the back while Noctis and Prompto did their best not to look _too_ shifty-eyed, the scorching irony not lost on either of them.

And then someone said something to someone, and like a swift over-water pass, the ball was out of his hands, the group’s attention instantly diverted off him.

Free to return to his now leaf-less sandwich, Noctis listened absent-mindedly as the boys deliberated over what movie to catch after practice, unaware that their teammate was devising some after-school plans of his own.

 

.

 

“Did you know that how you take your coffee says a lot about you?” Vanille looped apron strings around her back, securing them in a ribbon tie over her crop top, nudging Lightning around so she could so the same for hers.

The latter did so begrudgingly, silently reminding herself that a pink barista apron, complete with nametag and hand towel, all in the same fushia shade, was a small exacting price for an unqualified high school student looking for a part-time job with a decent salary.   

The petite girl’s vivacity and loquaciousness were a tad grating on her nerves and ears – nothing like the incessant chirping of a robin to drive a cat crazy – and a stark contrast to her own reserved nature, once mistaken as shy and reticent, now branded as haughty and aloof. Fortunately, Vanille wasn’t as quick to judge as the rest of society, not minding her fellow barista’s taciturn ways, or simply viewing it as an excuse to yap and prattle on more. 

“My go to is a double chocolaty chip crème frappuccino with extra whipped cream and a drizzle of cinnamon. What does it tell you about me?” Vanille’s big emerald eyes implored. 

“That you are seventeen going on seven. And a pre-diabetic.”

The little cafe had yet to fill up with customers, and the red head’s mirth rang loud and reverberant – clearly one who enjoyed a good roasting, even if she was in the ‘fire-ing’ line.

For such a tiny person, the girl sure had a hearty laugh.

“How ‘bout...a skinny soy vanilla latte?” Lebreau, the cafe owner chimed in.

“Lactose, sugar, and calorie intolerant? Sucks to be you.” Another deadpan crack, pursued on its heels by more laughter, like thunder after lightning. Imagine that – serious and dour Éclair Farron, serving up hot coffee with a side of humour.

Dry humour, but still.

“What about you, pink?” The cafe owner nodded at her. “What’s your poison?”

She didn’t need to think about it, but she pretended to, for all of three seconds. “Personally I quite fancy a mochachino.”

The two girls stared.

“I’m _kidding_.” She scoffed. “Of course I take it black. Life doesn’t come with sugar and cream to temper the bitter aftertaste, so why should coffee?”

A new laughter tittered through the cafe, deep and rumbling not unlike rolling thunder, a shade incongruent to the boyish pretty face she’d come to associate with it. And sure enough there he was, waiting by the till for her to take his order, as if he was just another unassuming customer.

“Welcome to Lebreau’s!” Vanille chirruped.

The ‘customer’ quirked his lips, brushing dark locks out of his eyes. “Aren’t you’re a regular ray of sunshine,” his eyes shifted to the pink-haired girl beside, “and a regular ray of pitch black.”

Of course he’d have something to say about her choice of caffeinated water.

“It’s called living in reality. Not all of us make a habit of sleep-walking through life.” Lightning narrowed her eyes. Maybe if she closed them for a second, he’d disappear.

“Wait a minute, you two know each other!?” Cloud cuckoo-lander she may be, but Vanille’s powers of observation were not to be discounted. Although _‘knowing each other’_ was relative at best.

With the hoodie incident behind them, their interactions this past week had fizzled down to passing encounters at poolside or short, mostly cordial, exchanges between class. Not quite friends but more than strangers. Casual acquaintances who circled on the peripheries on each other’s lives. Likewise this morning, when they had literally bumped into each other, not by chance but by virtue of having proximate lockers, and he had sheepishly asked to borrow her physics textbook. 

The hefty text exchanged hands, and then Noctis had smiled his thanks. “Catch you at the pool later?”

A shake of her head. “I’m working at the coffee house today.”

“It’s a date then.” He winked, ducking under the half-hearted punch she slung his way.

But back to the present.

Noctis scanned the brew menu before ordering, “One diet coke, please.”

“You came to a coffee house to order a diet coke?”

“No, I came to flirt with the hot barista.” That wink again, his eyes lighting up with glee at the elicited scowl.

More giggles from Vanille, sniggles from Lebreau. At least he hadn’t commented on the–  

“What’s with all the pink? The hair and now the apron? It looks like a strawberry milkshake threw up all over you.”

“The hair is _natural_. And I’m not too jazzed about the wardrobe either.” If Lebreau weren’t issuing her paycheck, she too would be on the receiving end of an icy glare.

“It’s a touch hideous, but you pull it off.” He assured.

Lightning’s smile was as strained as coffee-grounds through a filter, and she was now spotting some rather blossom cheeks to match said apron and hair. But she kept her trademark cool, for the most part. “Anything else I can get you?”

He grinned, and Lightning was reminded of the Cheshire cat from Lewis Carrol's famed novel. “I’d like one _Éclair_ for takeaway.”

Of course he would. That gag was just too good to pass up. Thank Etro for the counter separating them, else she might have taken another swing at him. And that was definitely not good customer service.

“We don’t have that here.” She ground out.

Noctis, perhaps sensing that he was on thin ice, said no more, humming to himself as he perused the cafe’s sweet and savoury selections, proceeding to order a side of everything on the menu. “What? I’m feelin’ peckish.”

Of course he was. It took her a full minute to ring up the order, followed by a half dozen trips to and from the kitchen and the corner table where the rich gourmand had seated himself.

As it turns out, Noctis wasn’t the only big eater in the house.  

Despite the fact that she’d had a full lunch and a late afternoon nibble – okay, it was more than a nibble, it was two chicken sliders and half an apple pie – it was all Lightning ‘perpetually  hungry’ Farron could do not to ogle the plate of wasabi lobster rolls like a vulture eyeing-up a fresh carcass. No, she wasn’t a sweet-tooth, but yes, she could always make room for Lebreau’s melt-in-your-mouth molten lava cakes. And that chocolate and strawberry mousse, which could only be described as temptation on a plate. A pink tongue darted out to lick her lips, and her stomach wasn’t shy about making its desires known.

“My eyes are up here.” Noctis’ smile was now a full-blown smirk, delighting in discovering that the stony-faced girl had a secret chink to her armour.

Lightning did her best to hold her head high, and her eyes level. “I have a high metabolism. Food is a constant necessity.”

Noctis picked up a fork. “I empathise.”

A snort escaped her.

“I heard that.”

“Well _pardon_ me, but you’re always _sleeping_.”

“To conserve energy!”

An eyebrow lifted, framed in skepticism.

“Hey don’t think I have it any easier – you deal with a little hunger pangs, I deal with being spiderman in a pool of Hulks and Thors.”

Pfft. “At least you don’t have Jihl as your personal trainer.”

“See? Much in common we both have.” Noctis raised his can of diet coke. “Well, here’s to us eating our hearts out, and looking like swimsuit models while we do.”  

 

.

 

A couple weeks in, and Lightning could say that she was getting the hang of this barista-ing business. Sure her people-skills were conspicuous in their absence and her cheeks were starting to ache along with the rest of her body, courtesy of all that fake smiling. But the work was simple, if monotonous, and Lightning had always been a ‘mono-tone’ kind of person anyways. It was also tiring as hell - dealing with people always was, if only the work at the pet store paid half as well - and between school and swimming it was like holding three full-time jobs. That meant even less time at home, and by proxy, with Serah.

But look on the flip side, Vanille, a ‘glass-half-full’ kind of girl, would say. You get to feed your coffee muse for an employee’s discount, and Lebreau even lets us have the leftover croissants and muffins for tomorrow’s breakfast.

That was true. Pity the coffee did nothing for her eye bags, and her favourite chocolate and strawberry mousse cake was always sold out before the end of shift.

But perhaps the most surprising – or unsurprising – thing, was that she still smelled of chlorine. Not coffee, or patisseries, but–

“What’s that smell?” Vanille wrinkled her nose.

“Sorry.” She muttered. “I swear I showered. It just sticks to you like a dark stain on a rug.”

And speaking of smelling like chlorine, the boy looked up from ‘his table’ – for he had claimed it as such – smiled once at her, then dipped his head, going back to his reading. And eating.  

His visits to the cafe ranged from minutes to hours. Minutes, if he trundled in after practice, wet-haired and famished, and craving for his usual serving of cake and banter. Hours, if he opted to use this place as his personal study lounge, laptop and textbooks sharing a table with ice-cream brownies and raspberry crumbles.

Once, he’d pushed through the door ten minutes before closing time, oddly dressed in a crisp white shirt with a half-undone tie. His smile was smaller than usual, and there was a tight press to his lips. “You okay?” She asked, instead of her set phrase of ‘what can I get you?’ Noctis looked away, mumbling something about his dad. He paid for a hot tea but she brought him a strawberry milkshake instead – it’s what she would have gotten Serah if the girl was looking down.

They hadn’t spoken about that incident since.

Noctis glanced up again and their eyes met. Lightning gave him a stiff nod.

It was becoming almost routine, though that word itself unnerved her, implying that there was a nascent amity and familiarity between them.

She pushed those thoughts aside, going back to wiping down the portafilter, even as she felt his gaze continue to bore holes into her.

At this late hour customers were beginning to file out of the cafe. The black haired boy too stood to leave, stretching out a kink in his neck with a yawn, already looking forward to a long postprandial snooze after consuming his weight in pastries.

Vanille waved him to the door. “Leaving already?”

He scrounged up his nose. “Morning practice tomorrow.” It was said with the same love-hate ‘fondness’ every swimmer has for a top of the morning dip. Lightning would be feeling the same way if she didn’t have the morning ‘off’, and that was only because Jihl wanted her in the gym, lifting irons.

“Wait. You forgot this.” She gestured to the takeaway box with the chocolate and strawberry mousse cake that he had ordered to go.

Noctis shook his head. “I didn’t forget. This one’s for you.”

“Why?” She had never been the most articulate person, not least when caught by surprise.

He read the crease of her brow. “It’s your favourite too, right?”

_Too?_

Pool rats, bottomless pits, and now they were bonding over a...cake? She had thought that there was a duality between them that made co-existence unlawful, like light and night, or yin and yang. But perhaps she was wrong; perhaps they were more like two sides of the same coin, two layers of a chocolate and strawberry mousse cake.

“You know...” Thankfully there was always Vanille to fill in the awkward silences. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you two.” Probing eyes darted back and forth between them.

Noctis raised an eyebrow. “We’re not dating... _yet_.”

“I know that, silly.” The red head giggled. "Don’t give up, I’m rooting for you! She’s a crabby one, but she’ll come out of her shell.”

“Aw, thanks. You’ll be the first to know, I promise.”

_“I’m standing right here.”_

The smaller girl giggled again, beckoning them closer. “I’m just curious...”

“Do you guys pee in the pool?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> d/c


End file.
